Got Your Back
by embroiderama
Summary: Dean's only in the 5th grade, after all. In the wake of the shtriga attack, his guilt and fear almost eat him up. Post-ep Something Wicked
1. Chapter 1

Title: Got Your Back

Author: lj user="embroiderama"

Characters: John, Dean

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: none

Spoilers: Something Wicked

Word Count: 2,277

Disclaimer: None of the Winchesters belong to me, alas.

Summary: Dean's only in the 5th grade, after all. In the wake of the shtriga attack, his guilt and fear almost eat him up.

Notes: This was written for rei17's prompt on the hurt/comfort meme

* * *

The place they were renting in Iowa was a real apartment, not a motel suite like they had back in Fort Douglas. The TV didn't get any cable stations, and there was no arcade Dean could walk to, but it didn't matter anyway. Sammy had almost died--almost idied/i just because Dean didn't want to spend all evening hanging out with him.

Dean knew he'd been stupid and wrong, and every time he thought of the way Dad had looked at him it made his stomach hurt. Every time he tried to sleep he thought of the shtriga bent over Sammy and the weight of the rifle in his hands, and it was easier to just sit up and keep an eye on his brother all night. Every time he fell asleep by accident he woke up scared, sure that something had gotten to Sammy while he slept.

So Dean sat watching Sam sleep, and he watched the numbers change on the clock radio, and he never, never got bored.

School was a different story. Math was too easy; the class was learning the same dumb fractions that Dean had been taught two schools ago. Science was okay because dinosaurs were pretty cool, but everything else was boring and pointless. Dean just focused on keeping his eyes open so that he didn't get in enough trouble for the school to call Dad or send him home. Sammy was just downstairs in the first grade class, and at least Dean could keep an eye on him at recess.

And if something bad happened, at least he would know right away. He would know.

Dean looked back down at his book and tried to concentrate. The teacher had given them a silent reading period, and he sure didn't want to have to read this stuff at home when he could be helping out Dad. The problem was that it was hard to keep track of where he was, and he kept reading the same dumb paragraph over and over. His stomach hurt, and he thought about the three quarters of a peanut butter sandwich he'd stuck back in his bag after lunch.

He was pretty sure he could eat it without Mr. Lancaster seeing, but he wasn't sure if it would make him feel better or worse. Anyway, sneaking it out of his bag sounded like more trouble than Dean felt up to. He looked at his book again and blinked his eyes, trying to make the page clearer.

"Dean?" Mr. Lancaster's voice was close, and Dean was surprised to see the teacher crouched down next to him. "Are you feeling okay?"

"'m okay," Dean mumbled, looking away from the teacher's eyes.

"You're white as a sheet of paper, son. You don't feel sick?"

Dean looked down at his desk, and the words in the book swam around a little in front of his eyes, making his stomach feel weird like when he tried to read in the car. He couldn't let himself admit to being sick, but he didn't feel up to lying either, so he kept quiet and hoped Mr. Lancaster would let him just get through the day.

"How about I have Miss Beauchamp walk you to the nurse's office, and if the nurse says it's okay you can come back to class."

The student teacher was pretty, but Dean didn't really care. He didn't want to go anywhere.

"Come on, Dean." Mr. Lancaster's hand was gentle as he tugged on Dean's arm, but Dean knew he'd have to make a fuss if he didn't want to stand up. He planted his feet on the floor and slid out from behind his desk, but then everything in the room went as swimmy as the words on the page had before. Dean heard Mr. Lancaster say something, his voice sharp and weird, and he felt an arm around his back, and then nothing else.

* * *

"Hey, Winchester!"

John put his wrench down on the concrete floor and closed his eyes. Every time he heard his boss's voice he had to remind himself that he needed the job, that his boys needed some stability for a while, some solid time in school. Some safety. And John didn't mind the job; he liked working on cars even when they were crappy little imports.

The problem was his boss--the little twit was 25 years old and barely knew how to do an oil change. Apparently, when you were working at Donald Johnson Auto Repair and your name was Donald Johnson, Jr., those qualifications were enough to make manager. At least Johnson Sr. knew that if he was going to spend his days on the golf course he needed a decent mechanic working in the shop, and John was more than a decent mechanic. The pay was good enough, and John was willing to put up with any amount of bullshit from Donny if it meant he could take care of his boys and still have the flexibility to take a day off when he needed to for a hunt.

"Winchester!" Donny called out again. "Phone!"

John rolled out from under the car he was working on and stood up, nodding to let Donny know he'd heard.

"Sounded like some kind of a personal call to me."

John bit his tongue to keep from telling the kid exactly which tool to stick up his ass. He closed the door of the little office behind him and picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Mr. Winchester, this is Elaine Gregory. I'm the school nurse at Polk Elementary."

No matter that every time he'd been called by a school nurse it was for something like a bad cold or a twisted ankle, he still tasted a bitter tang of adrenalin in his mouth every time they called. "My boys?"

"Dean's here in my office, and I think he's okay, but we do need you to come pick him up."

"What--"

"He passed out in class about ten minutes ago. He is awake now, and he drank some juice, but he's still rather pale."

"Jesus." John thought of his boy, passed out and vulnerable on the floor. "I'll be there in fifteen."

John made his excuses to Donny while he clocked out, and if the kid had something to say about it John didn't much care. Just inside of fifteen minutes later he was standing in the door of the nurse's office, looking at Dean where he lay on the table. His eyes were half open and bleary, his freckles dark against too-white skin. He looked exhausted and sick and so much younger than he normally did.

"Mrs. Gregory?" The nurse looked up from her work at stood to meet John at the door. "What exactly happened?"

"Mr. Winchester?" At John's nod, she reached out and shook his hand. She continued in a quiet voice, "Dean's teacher noticed that Dean didn't seem to be feeling well. Mr. Lancaster was going to have his student teacher escort Dean here, but then he got dizzy and collapsed."

"God." John looked back over at Dean. "Did he hurt himself?"

"No, Mr. Lancaster caught him and carried him down here. I believe his blood sugar must have been low because he perked up a bit after I got him to drink some apple juice. Has he been ill?"

"No. Or, if he was--" John shook his head. "He's too good at hiding things sometimes."

"Well, I don't think he's really up to hiding anything right now." John couldn't help agreeing with her, the way Dean looked so still and spent and half-asleep. "I'd suggest you keep him home for a couple of days to let him rest and take him to the doctor as soon as you can."

"Okay. Is there something I need to sign to take him out of here?" The nurse handed him a clip-board, and he scribbled his name on what he hoped was the appropriate line before walking over to put his hand on Dean's forehead. It was cool, at least--Dean didn't need a fever on top of whatever else was going on.

"Hey, Deano. You feel up to getting out of here?"

Dean blinked his eyes open further and then curled in on himself to sit up. "'m sorry they had to call you at work."

"It's okay. You know that Donny kid was driving me nuts anyway."

John hoped for a smile, but Dean just nodded shallowly and slipped off the side of the table to stand. He wobbled a little on his feet, and John pressed a steadying hand to his shoulder. "You doing okay? Want me to give you a lift?"

"Noooo, Dad."

John patted Dean's shoulder, relieved that his son was at least with it enough to resist the idea of being carried. "Okay, the car's right out front." They made it down the hallway, and John was just pushing open the door to the outside when Dean went still and stiff beside him.

"Where's Sammy?"

"He's with his class, kiddo. There's still a couple more hours of school."

"No!" Dean's eyes went wide with alarm. "We can't leave him here by himself!"

"His teacher'll keep an eye on him for us. We'll come pick him up after school, okay?"

"No! We can't go!" Dean shook his head so hard that his face washed a shade paler. "Something might happen to him. I--I'll go back to class. You can tell Mr. Lancaster I'm okay, and you can go back to work." Dean looked frantically down the hall, his whole little body trembling as he leaned up against John's side.

"Dean, he'll be safe here at school. I want to get you home so you can lay down before you make yourself sick." iIf you haven't already./i John ducked his head, trying to meet Dean's eyes.

Dean just shook his head again and looked down at his feet. "I thought he was safe in the motel room." Dean glanced up at John, guilt clear in his big eyes. "Before. And--and I left him, and he wasn't safe, and he--he almost got--got--" Dean stumbled over the words, and John saw the first tear drip down the side of Dean's nose and over the curve of his lip.

The hallway was empty, but John didn't know how long it would stay that way, and he knew that the last thing Dean would want was an audience. "Come on, son. Let's just go sit in the car. We won't go anywhere without your brother." Dean nodded and John shepherded him outside, keeping an arm tight across his shoulders.

In the dim warmth of the car, Dean looked even paler, shadows painting angles onto his cheeks where they'd always been so round.

"It was all my fault," Dean whispered, quieter now inside the car than he'd been in the school. "And I can't let it happen again. I have to do my job and watch Sammy. I have to watch him iall the time/i." Dean looked over toward the school and then back to John. "I have to do it right this time."

John didn't know what a heart attack felt like, but he didn't think it could hurt worse than this, watching Dean tear himself apart over something that never should have been his responsibility. He looked at the purple smudges under Dean's eyes, and he knew--knew what was going on, knew that Dean had barely slept in the weeks since they'd left Fort Douglas. And Dean never did like to eat when he was upset, but John hadn't noticed. Hadn't noticed until his son had almost worried and fretted himself into the hospital.

Dean worried at his lip with his teeth and looked down at his lap. "I'm sorry, Dad."

"Oh God, Dean," John sighed. He wrapped his arm around Dean and pulled him across the bench seat, hugging him close and resting his nose on the top of Dean's head. "It wasn't your fault. You shouldn't have left Sammy, okay? But I left the both of you, and just you being in the room wouldn't have stopped that thing."

"But it's my job to watch Sammy," Dean murmured into John's chest, his words taking on the slur of exhaustion even while sounding stubborn as ever.

"You're right, but Dean? It's my job to watch you. I'm going to be home a lot more for the next while, and I don't care how deep asleep I am--something bad comes into our place, I'm gonna know it. You have to trust me to have your back, okay? Just like I trust you."

Dean tilted his face up, his chin brushing against the new damp spot on John's chest. "You trust me?"

"I sure do." Dean looked back down, leaning more heavily against John's chest. "So, tonight, you think you can sleep and let me keep watch?"

"Uh-huh." Dean gave a nod John could feel more than see.

"And you think we ought to swing by McDonalds on the way home? Maybe you could put some of that away?"

"Uh-huh." Dean nodded again. "With Sammy."

"Yeah, kiddo, I'll go inside and get Sammy in a minute."

Dean shivered a little as his breathing relaxed down into sleep, and John rubbed his hand up and down Dean's arm to warm him up. John breathed in the sweaty-clean smell of Dean's hair and closed his eyes. He'd go get Sam from his class soon, but for the moment John was right where he needed to be.


	2. Getting Home

Title: Getting Home  
Author: embroiderama  
Characters: John, Sam, Dean  
Rating: PG-13  
Warnings: none  
Spoilers: none  
Word Count: 1,311  
Disclaimer: None of the Winchesters belong to me, alas.  
Summary: John and Sam take care of Dean in their own ways.

~~~

John sighed with relief when he saw Sammy come trundling down the hallway, backpack square on both shoulders. He didn't like leaving Dean alone in the car, but the doors were locked and standing by the windows in the school lobby he could keep an eye out for any trouble. Dean had seemed so comfortable against John's side that he hated to disturb him, but with Dean so adamant about bringing Sam home with them there was no option but to go in and get the boy.

There weren't many times John considered junking up the Impala's interior with one of those car phone set-ups, but he had to admit that there were times it would be convenient.

"We moving away?" Sam asked as soon as he was standing next to John.

"No dude, just making it a short day today." John ushered Sam toward the door.

"But we were studying Native Americans, and I didn't get to finish coloring my page."

"Well, I'm sure your teacher will let you finish drawing Indians tomorrow."

"_Native Americans_, Dad," Sam complained, and John just shook his head.

A few feet away from the car, he stopped and crouched down in front of Sam. "Sammy, I need you to be quiet when you get in the car. Dean's not feeling well and he's taking a little nap, so try not to wake him up, okay?"

Sam's eyes went wide and he craned his neck to look over John's shoulder, as though he could maybe see through the steel doors to his brother inside lying on the seat. "Did he throw up?"

"No, he's just real worn out, so are you with me on keeping it zipped on the way home?"

Sam nodded emphatically but silently, and John unlocked the back door so Sam could scramble in across the seat. Dean was just where John had left him--curled on his side over two-thirds of the front bench seat, John's leather jacket draped over him. John slid inside until his hip just touched the top of Dean's head and started the car.

He didn't manage to drive more than two feet before Sam was climbing half-way over the seat, dangling himself over to get a closer look at Dean. "Dean was crying!" Sam stage-whispered the words, sounding aghast at the concept.

"Shhh." John held a finger to his lips. " Butt. Seat. Seatbelt," he hissed. "Now."

Sam slithered back over the seat, reluctance clear in his pouting face, and did what he was told. John pulled off again, driving as smoothly as the road allowed. He realized, as he pulled up to the drive-through at McDonalds, that he wasn't going to be able to help making a little bit of noise. Not willing to leave the boys alone in the car again, he shrugged and placed the order--Big Mac, three regular cheeseburgers, and a couple medium fries. At the last moment, he added on a strawberry shake. If nothing else could tempt Dean, that sure as hell would.

"Apple pie," Sam whispered from the back seat.

"Excuse me?" John asked.

"Dean wants an apple pie."

Joh sighed and turned back to the speaker. "And an apple pie."

Dean didn't stir, and by the time John pulled the car into the lot by their building he was still fast asleep. John picked up the bag of food and turned to face Sam. "Hey bud, can you do me a favor? You want to carry in the food?"

Sam nodded and got his backpack situated on his back again before climbing out of the car. He took the big paper bag from John's hand and then reached back in with his free hand. "I can take the milkshake, too."

"It's for Dean, okay? Don't drink it." John wished he'd ordered two, but they really did have plenty of milk in the fridge.

"Can I have a sip?"

"A real sip, not a gulp sip."

"Okay." Sam nodded, his face solemn, and accepted the cup before turning around and pushing the door closed with his backpack.

"Dean." John shook Dean's shoulder, but the boy just mumbled and turned his face further into the seat's upholstery. "Okay, kiddo." John got out and circled around to the passenger side. He reached inside and got his arms around Dean, ignoring his back's complaints about the movement and angle. There'd be a time when he couldn't carry his kids, but that time sure as hell hadn't come yet. He stood up and adjusted Dean against his shoulder to get a better grip and then kicked the door shut.

Sam walked up the sidewalk in front of them, bag of food bumping against his leg every time he turned his head around to stare.

Inside the apartment, John hesitated. It was clear that all Dean wanted to do was sleep, but John worried that Dean would wake up feeling even worse if they didn't get some food in him. He heard Dean's belly growl, reacting to the smell of fries even in his sleep, and that made up his mind. He set Dean down in the corner of the couch, and patted his check until he stirred.

"Sammy, you want to hand me that shake?"

The cup was cold in John's hand and somehow, miraculously most of the way full. "Dean, Deano, I need you to wake up for me."

Dean opened his eyes to exhausted slits. "Did you get Sammy yet?"

"Yep, we're home buddy."

Dean's eyes opened further. "Huh?" He looked around. "How did I get inside?"

"How do you think?"

"Daaaad," Dean groaned, his tone of agrieved complaint tapering off into a yawn.

"You hungry? I picked up up a shake from Mickey D's."

"And an apple pie!" Sam piped up from the table, where he sat working his way through an order of fries.

"And an apple pie, but you can save that for later if you want."

Dean nodded and stuck the straw in his mouth. John didn't know what to do, but when he tried to stand up and walk away from the couch Dean stopped drinking, so he stayed put. His hand found its way onto Dean's shoulder, and the curve of bone under flannel fit just right in John's palm.

Once the last of the shake disappeared into a gurgle of the straw against the bottom of the cup, Dean closed his eyes and lapsed back into sleep. John stood and picked him up again, walking toward the boys' bedroom. He heard Sam's hurried footsteps following behind.

"You can put Dean in my bed, Dad."

"Why? They look the same to me."

Sam shook his head. "I don't think Dean's bed is comfortable. He sits up all the time, even when it's all dark out."

"That's a generous offer, son." John was willing to bet that Dean's bed was plenty comfortable, but he turned and pulled back the covers on Sam's bed and set Dean down. Dean didn't wake as John tugged off his jeans and pulled on pajama bottoms, and John couldn't remember the last time he had dressed Dean. He let Dean's t-shirt and socks be and tucked him under the covers.

"Come on, Sam. Let's go watch some TV." John kept his voice low, and he felt like Dean's exhaustion had seeped into him. It was early, he would have still been at work, but the day felt way too damn long.

Sam took a step toward the door and then walked over to stand next to Dean. He bent his head close to Dean's ear, and John held his breath to hear what Sam would say. "Don't be sad, Dean." John felt his eyes sting, and the tableau in front of him blurred. "I won't eat your pie."

John hooked a hand around Sammy's shoulders and pulled him out of the room.


End file.
